


Seek(er) and Ye Shall Find

by fallovermelikestars



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 21:57:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2483837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallovermelikestars/pseuds/fallovermelikestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that Regulus needs him. Regulus doesn't need anybody: he's the Black family heir now, he's important and he's going places and even the Dark Lord can see that; he gave Regulus the Mark after all. Needing people makes you weak and leaves you vulnerable. So no, it's not that Regulus needs his brother like he did when he was a kid, but he does find himself, quite involuntarily, missing him.</p><p>Or, the one where Regulus learns that if he's looking for a way to reconnect with his brother, telling Sirius he has The Dark Mark probably isn't it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seek(er) and Ye Shall Find

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a prompt from the Marauder Era Writing tumblr, this was really just an excuse for me to explore the bond between Sirius and Regulus Black, because jeez, I have so many feelings about those two, you don't even know.   
> In my head this fic exists within the same world as 'That Old Black Magic' but they're totally blink and you'll miss it references so you can totally read this without having read that.
> 
>  
> 
> As ever, mountains of thanks to my wonderful beta, who has found the time to look this over for me even though I know she is drowning in work. She's the best, and I love her.

Regulus Black wondered what it meant that he was more terrified about his brother finding out about it than he was about getting the Dark Mark in the first place.

He hasn't seen Sirius for over a year, hasn't spoken to him properly in longer than that. But still, blood runs thick - no matter whether there is a scorch mark on the family tree where Sirius's name should be, he's still Regulus's brother.

His older brother.

Older brother, childhood best friend, one time fucking _hero._

It's not that Regulus _needs_ him. Regulus doesn't need anybody: he's the Black family heir now, he's important and he's going places and even the Dark Lord can see that; he gave Regulus the Mark after all. Needing people makes you weak and leaves you vulnerable. So no, it's not that Regulus needs his brother like he did when he was a kid, but he does find himself, quite involuntarily, missing him.

And he does find himself, quite quite against his own wishes, thinking a lot about Sirius. Wanting really just to talk to him even though they haven't really talked for years.

(Regulus will freely admit that he wishes he could cast a memory spell and obliterate only his brother because it's too hard, some days, to remember him.)

That's why he sends the owl.

Because Sirius will find out sooner or later and Regulus would like to tell him himself.

To explain.

He's not ashamed. Far from it. The way the Mark moves, deep and red beneath his skin when he flexes his forearm, fills him with a sense of pride so strong he can barely breathe with it.

It's because he knows Sirius won't understand 

Besides that, Sirius is still a Black and perhaps if Regulus can just talk to him, explain, get him to see what it's really all about then maybe just _maybe_ Sirius will see sense and maybe just maybe Regulus can have his brother back. He doesn't have to be a lost cause, Regulus just has to make him see.

It's not all bad, it's not. Regulus believes that just like he believes that his parents want the best for him, just like he knows that no other feeling compares to the thrill of catching the snitch. _It's not all bad._

It's certainly not as bad as Sirius and his pals would have you believe, not from where Regulus is sitting at least. It's what their parents have been telling them their whole lives: it's about pride in your family, pride in your history and paving the way so that those who come after you will be able to live the life they deserve. The life all pureblood wizards deserve, a life that truly reflects their heritage.

The Dark Lord wants to make things better for all of them. Being pureblooded is something to be proud of. It matters more than anything - Regulus has been told that since the day he was born and the Dark Lord just wants to make sure those values last, wants to make sure that everything they are and all they stand for isn't watered down and eventually diminished to nothing by muggles and mudbloods. It makes sense.

Besides which, Regulus feels accepted and valued. For the first time he feels chosen and not like a consolation prize. Not everyone gets the Mark and the fact that Regulus has? Well, it makes a difference.

When he'd rolled up his sleeve and shown her, his mother had looked at him for the first time in as long as he can remember like she wasn't just waiting for him to fail, like she was _proud._ There's a lot to be said for belonging, for the feeling of a sense of place.

He'd sent an owl to Sirius but never received a reply. He supposes he had only half-expected one: Sirius is more like his mother than he would care to admit, stubborn to the end. Not that Regulus would ever say that to his face. A death wish he has not.

Regulus still shows up, though, at the dingy pub he'd told his brother to meet him in. If Sirius was stubborn then Regulus was hopeful. Seems funny, then, that they were on the paths they were on.

His heart thunders in his chest as he pushes open the heavy green painted door to the pub, his palms a little clammy - he wipes them surreptitiously on his trousers. He's only 16, below the legal age for purchasing alcohol or being unaccompanied in a tavern. Not that it matters, Regulus thinks smugly, he doesn't abide by the rules of the Ministry anymore. Regulus is governed by a higher power, has hopes one day of being close to the top of that particular pyramid. The Ministry can suck his dick. Still, he could do without being thrown out of the place before he's even had a chance to see if his brother will show.

He has no idea what to order; he doesn't spend much time in bars and pubs and the barmaid has been eyeing him curiously since he stepped inside. He orders a butterbeer in a gruff voice, feels incredibly young and conspicuous as he hands over his sickle and makes his way down to a table in the back. He can see the door, but people would have to be looking to see him. Not that he thinks his mother or any of her contemporaries would be caught dead in a place like this but still, why take the chance? It's a battle he'd rather not face given the option.

That annoying little voice in the back of his mind - sounding eerily like Kreacher - asks him why it's his mother’s wrath he fears and not the Dark Lord’s, but the answer is easy this time. The Dark Lord wouldn't care. In fact, if Regulus could be the one to make the eldest Black brother see the light and join the cause, well, he'd be one step closer to proving himself, one more rung higher on the ladder. Regulus doesn't intend to be unknown forever. He has ambition. He wants the Dark Lord to see his value, and making Sirius see that the Dark Lord's cause is one worth fighting for is as good a way of proving himself as any.

His mother, however, has all but erased Sirius's very existence. To even mention his name sends her spiralling into a fit of rage and Regulus hates it, has spent his entire 16 years trying to avoid being on the receiving end of one of her tempers.

He recognises his brother as soon as he steps into the pub. Sirius hasn't changed much in a year - is a little taller perhaps, his hair a little longer. Now he carries himself differently, like he's a little more sure of himself, like he knows who he is and likes it. He's always been cocky but this is a different type of confidence, like Sirius has found a space in which he fits. Regulus has never felt that same kind of easy relaxation he sees in his brother now, that surety in his own skin. He feels a twinge of longing and feels his fingers tighten around his glass.

Sirius holds the door open, doesn't even glance around the pub before whoever is with him has stepped inside. As he lets the door fall closed Sirius's hand runs down the arm of the apparent friend, catching his companion's hand and squeezing before it falls back down to his side.

Regulus swears under his breath. He's brought the werewolf - Lupin, that's his name. Should have bloody guessed it. It looks like they're still messing about together. Should probably have guessed that too.

Perhaps Sirius is going to be harder to convince than he thought. Perhaps Regulus has been a little naive. He'd known about Sirius and his little boyfriend but he'd thought it was just a phase, just something Sirius had done because he'd known it would piss Mother off; hadn't imagined for a second that his brother could actually really be _that_ , and actually have feelings for someone - some _thing_ \- like Lupin. The man's a half-blood, and an animal. And he's standing now with his hand on the small of Regulus's brother's back like it belongs there.

Regulus feels his stomach twist. He doesn't know which is strongest: the disgust at how his own brother, his own flesh and blood, can be capable of _this_ , or the strange sense of longing: it's his brother and he's missed him.

In all his years nobody has ever looked at Regulus the way the werewolf is looking at Sirius.

It's Lupin that spots Regulus, eyes scanning the large room quickly before coming to meet his gaze for a long second, his expression almost questioning. Then he leans into Sirius, closer than Regulus thinks is needed, and jerks his head in Regulus's direction. Sirius's sigh is visible. Had he been hoping Regulus wouldn't show?

It's not fair, if that's the case: none of this is his fault. Regulus tried, he tried and tried to make Sirius see sense, to stop dicking around and put his family first. He warned Sirius, he kept secrets from his mother she'd likely practice the Cruciatus Curse on him for keeping, he tried to talk his brother 'round. Sirius might think he's had it hard being cast out but it's not been easy being the son left behind either. Maybe he'll tell Sirius that, now he's here and he has the chance.

_'This is about so much more than your mummy issues. You had responsibilities. You had me, and you just left me behind. We’re brothers, we always presented a united front against our parents before and you just walked away and...'_

"You're not supposed to have anything to do with me, little brother, which makes this cloak and dagger meeting all the more intriguing."

Regulus startles. It's ridiculous, he knows it. He invited Sirius here, just watched him walk across the room - yet somehow the sound of his voice, the fact that he's standing there so close comes as a surprise. Regulus feels wrong-footed somehow; he'd hoped for a semblance of control here, for once, and yet he feels like in seconds Sirius has once again taken the upper hand. It's that more than anything that makes him snap in response.

"You're not supposed to be cavorting around with an animal, Sirius, but here we are." He sneers in Lupin's direction and his brother bristles, his back straightening.

"Remus is more human than your lot will ever be. If you've called me here just to slag him off you can save your breath. We're leaving."

He turns to go, and Regulus has a sudden urge to punch himself in the face. This is not going at all to plan. But then Lupin reaches out a consoling hand to Sirius's arm and throws a reproachful look at Regulus. Regulus stares him down, or tries to at least. There's something about this guy that makes Regulus not want to disappoint him. It's most annoying.

"Calm down, both of you. And Pads, sit down. You've not dragged me halfway across the city to leave before we've even had a drink. I'll go to the bar. What do you want?"

It's like some kind of miracle is happening before Regulus's eyes. Sirius doesn't even protest, he just runs a hand across his face and nods.

"Better make it a firewhiskey then, looks like I'm going to need it."

Lupin nods, squeezes his arm gently.

"You can have a butterbeer," he says to Regulus, "since you're underage. Try not to kill each other whilst I'm at the bar."

"He's more...decisive than I expected him to be," Regulus says as Remus walks towards the bar.

It's true. He doesn't know much about Remus Lupin, other than the derogatory things Mother has spewed in her rages, the fact that he is a werewolf with a Muggle for a parent, and what he had seen himself when they were still at school together. Which wasn't much really - Remus and Sirius are two years older than Regulus and had been in a different house - but what he had seen had painted a picture of a timid boy, somebody Regulus's often dominating older brother and his best friend could lord over and lead astray. A willing audience to _The Potter and Black Show_. The way he had handled that little situation, though, diffused it before it even got started, suggests a different dynamic altogether.

Sirius grins and Regulus's heart stutters. _There he is._

"He's something else, alright." Sirius tilts his head to the side and looks at Regulus consideringly. "You look different," he says finally. "Are you eating enough?"

"I'm eating fine." Regulus resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Pretty sure my diet stopped being your concern the day you fucked off."

"Oh come on, Reg." Sirius looks pained and Regulus feels guilty. He really didn't ask Sirius here to fight, doesn't know why he can't stop making these digs. "You know I didn't choose to leave; she made it impossible for me to stay. And I told you that you could come with me."

It's true. He had. Granted, he'd sold it to Regulus as a way to truly make their mother lose her shit, but still he had offered Regulus an alternative. It just hadn't felt like much of one at the time: living god knows where with his loose-moraled brother and a werewolf, practically complicit with the mudbloods turning the wizarding world to shit. It doesn't feel like much more of an alternative now except he hadn't bargained on the way seeing his brother again has made him feel.

There's a huge part of him that wants to throw himself across the table, wrap his arms around Sirius's neck and never let go. He's fucking _missed_ him, alright, he's 16 years old and he's grown up with a domineering mother and a demanding father and his whole life the only person who ever really seemed to care about who Regulus really was, was Sirius. It's tempting to imagine he could just pretend the Dark Mark doesn't exist, slink off into the darkness with his brother by his side and make a new life, pureblood supremacy be damned. What does it matter, really, when Sirius is kicking at his ankle under the table and giving him that apologetic half-smile.

Except. You kind of don't get to pretend the Mark doesn't exist. That's kind of the point: service to the Dark Lord is something you commit yourself to for life. And whether Regulus likes it or not, he and his brother are on opposing sides of whatever this is. Regulus can't walk away from his part in it any more than he supposes Sirius can walk away from his boyfriend and his friends and his own stupid beliefs. It's all rather tragic.

"–How's school?" Sirius is asking like he gives a shit, like he's chosen today to be brother of the year, and Regulus doesn't know whether he wants to laugh or cry. ' _How's school?'_ He wants to yell. ' _I have the Dark fucking Mark on my arm and the second you walked through that door I started wondering if it was the right decision, but I aced my potions homework and sat through countless fucking Slug Club meetings and made our mother proud so, you know, there's that.'_

Instead he shrugs. "Cant wait to be done with it, honestly. Bigger and better things are waiting for me outside of Hogwarts."

"I’m sure. Always did like your modesty." Sirius laughs, nudges Regulus's ankle again beneath the table.

"I get it from you." Regulus grins back, grins so hard his face hurts; those muscles hurt from disuse and it suddenly feels easy between them, like it hasn't in too long. Maybe this'll be okay after all. Sirius will roll his eyes and tug at his little brother's hair and swear a bit and then Regulus will calm him down - it's only the Dark Mark, not a death sentence - and he'll finally, finally hear Regulus out and then they'll go home and mother will reinstate Sirius's name on the tree.

"One firewhiskey. One butterbeer," Lupin says, handing over the drinks and sliding into the chair beside Sirius, smiling softly as Sirius shuffles his barstool a little closer. Sirius's hand disappears below the table and Regulus just knows it's resting on Lupin's thigh.

Or not, then.

Somehow he knows deep down in his gut that nothing he can say will make his brother come back. That nothing he can say or do or explain will make Sirius turn his back on this man sat next to him, this man that pretty much embodies everything Regulus and his cause are fighting against. There's something there between the two of them - he'd seen it before at school but had chosen to ignore it then, he'd had that luxury then. Can't ignore it now; it's there in the shared looks, the hand on the leg, the way Sirius has always been more himself around Lupin than he is around anyone else. They _love_ each other and like a smack in the face Regulus realizes that no just cause in the world will ever compete with that, and that his brother will surely hate him for who he has become. Regulus wonders if he should hate himself. The problem is that he doesn't.

His arm throbs beneath his shirt sleeve and he resists the urge to rub it. It's not a summoning, he knows that: that's a sharp pain, like a knife wound, like a burn, hot and persistent. This is just a prickling, just a little uneasy. Like guilt.

He wonders if he can make an excuse, some falsehood about why he Owled that Sirius will buy and that will allow Regulus to leave this dingy hellhole without ever having to see the look in his brother's eye when he tells him once and for all that the side he has chosen is not the one Sirius has. That's what it boils down to, Regulus can see that now: Sirius sees it as right and wrong but really it's more like him and them. Regulus has chosen them and summoned Sirius here to rub his face in it. He doesn't regret his choices but he knows he's being a grade A shit.

"You really look a little green round the gills, Reg," Sirius says, glancing at Lupin. "Does he look a bit off to you, Re? D'you think he's getting enough to eat?"

"I told you," Regulus snaps, "I'm eating fucking plenty."

Sirius looks startled and a little hurt. Regulus doesn't think he can take much more of this and they've not been here ten minutes yet.

"Fuck's sake." He curls his fingers inwards, blunt fingernails pressing into clammy palms.

"What's going on?" Sirius says sharply, placing both his hands palms down on the table and looking his brother straight in the eye. It's that piercing stare, the one that makes Regulus feel like he's looking straight into his soul. It used to make him blush and squirm ‘til he learned to keep his emotions better covered. Now he schools his expression into one of mild indifference. Lupin leans forward a little, his hand gentle but solid on Sirius's shoulder. Sirius leans into the touch, seems to draw from it and takes a deep breath.

"What's going on?" he asks again. "Why did you want to see us?"

"I wanted to see _you_ ," Regulus says."I wanted to talk to you. Alone, actually."

"Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of Remus," Sirius says firmly. Lupin doesn't react, his expression remains the same: unreadable. He's looking at Regulus but his hand rests on the arm of Sirius's chair. He's calm and expectant and so so sure. Lupin is, in that moment, whatever Sirius needs him to be. They are communicating without a single word, it's all done in the angle of Sirius's head, the placement of Remus's hand. It's a beautiful and well-choreographed dance, and Regulus's heart twists again in his chest. What must it be like, he wonders, to love like that, and will he ever know?

"Regulus." There's something in Sirius's tone now. Fear or a warning, Regulus isn't sure which.

"Fine," he snaps. He grabs Sirius's gaze, looks him right in the eye and rolls up his sleeve.

Lupin gasps. And swears, a ' _fuck_ ' that's almost unheard, and again ' _oh fuck_.'

Sirius doesn't speak. Doesn't move. Regulus feels a manic laugh bubbling in his chest; he forces it back down. It's the first time in 16 years that he's seen his brother speechless.

"Well," he says after a silence that feels like a lifetime but is likely only thirty seconds. "Cat got your tongue?"

"Cover it up," Sirius says dully. "I can't stand to look at it."

"Is that all you have to say? Do you even know what it is?"

"Of course I know what it fucking _is_ ," Sirius hisses. "I'm not sure what response you expect from me. You want me to ask what you've done? I know what you've done. It's there for all to see. You want me to ask why? To tell you that you could be so much more than this, that you have the world at your fucking fingertips, Regulus? It's the truth; you could go anywhere, do anything, be fucking seeker for whatever team you choose - but you've chosen to throw it all away, on this. On him."

"Oh please. Like you know anything at all about how good I may or may not be at Quidditch.” It's the most ridiculous response he could have made in the circumstances, it's absolutely inane, but still the words are out there.

"I've seen you play, dickhead. I came to all your matches."

"You did?"

"You're my little brother. Of course I did."

"I...I never knew that." Regulus wonders why that simple fact makes him want to sob. He tugs his sleeve back down to his wrist.

"No. You were too busy crawling up Voldemort's arse to notice I expect."

Remus flinches at the Dark Lord's name but it doesn't fill Regulus with the satisfaction he thought it would.

"The Dark Mark," Sirius says, turning suddenly to look at Remus with wide, questioning eyes as though expecting to see the answers written in his face. Remus puffs up his cheeks and exhales, slowly.

"Fucking fuckeration. He's got the fucking Dark Mark."

"What the fuck have you _done,_ little brother?" Sirius bangs his palms on the table, presses them into the wood and uses the leverage to rock his chair onto two legs and back again. Losing it finally, like Regulus knew he would. He runs a hand through his already messy hair. "You asked me if I knew what it was, but do _you_ , you stupid boy? Do you have _any fucking idea_ what you have gotten yourself into?"

And Regulus hates that. Hates the implication that he's just a stupid kid, second best, good for nothing, not sure of his own mind. Hates being called a child. He is none of those things. He's better, better than any of them think he is, better than Sirius. He's the one that their mother is proud of now, he's one of the relative few to have been awarded the Mark, he's the one going places, going _up._ Sirius? Sirius is just a fucking blood traitor.

"I know exactly what it is, Sirius, and exactly what I have _gotten myself into_ as you put it. Yes. Do you really think that playing _Quidditch c_ an ever compare to the work I can do for the Dark Lord? To what we can achieve? I was a Seeker. And I sought. You have no idea, _brother,_ what we have planned but let me tell you the time will come when you wish you'd chosen a different side."

His heart is thundering in his chest - he isn't sure, suddenly, that he believes a word he is saying but the words he wants to say don't come.

_'You don't know what it's like, Sirius, and I had to pick a side and I'm not brave like you or strong  and I couldn't stand up to them like you can. This is the only thing I’m good at, good for. You don't know what it's like to be invisible. I papered my walls in silver and green but all she saw was you. I was fucking invisible and now, now she can't do enough for me. I matter. You left me and all I had left was this.'_

"I would die," Sirius says slowly, firmly, "I would die before choosing the side that you are on. You could perform Unforgivable curses on me until I barely knew my own name and still, still my decision would be the same."

And Regulus knows that he means it.

"So you've made your choice and I've made mine," he says, sounding calmer than he feels. "What now?"

"Now..." Sirius says, pushing himself to a stand and holding out a hand for Remus. Remus takes it, laces his fingers through Sirius's like an anchor. "Now we're done. Don't tire out your owl trying to contact me again. You're dead to me, just like the rest of them. There's no space in my life for Death Eaters."

Then they're gone. They don't even look back, either of them. The green door swings closed behind them, heavy on its hinges. Regulus reaches across the table and picks up Sirius's glass, half drunk. The fire whiskey burns on the way down but it's fine, at least he can kid himself it's that that's making his eyes water. He wonders, as he presses the tips of his fingers hard against the skin where the mark is branded, whether those were the last words his brother will ever say to him.

He wonders what will happen next.


End file.
